Ghostrider - M. L. Buchman Page 0,64

talk to these folks. We can help them. They aren’t Air Force. These two are with the NTSB. And your General JJ—”

“Or Taz Cortez,” Holly snarled.

“Or Colonel Cortez,” he agreed, “just kidnapped the other half of their team. About ninety minutes ago.”

“A hundred and thirteen,” Miranda sighed. Seven hundred and fifty-three miles. St. Louis, Missouri. Orlando, Florida…

45

They were passing north of Little Rock, Arkansas, on their way to meet a refueling KC-130 out of Fort Worth, Texas.

Taz explained the logic. “The pilots of the Marine Aerial Refueler Transport Squadron were only too happy to have an excuse to practice a midair refueling. They’re also the least likely to report it to the Air Force except as a cross-service invoice for flight cost and fuel rendered. That could take months to wend its way through accounting.”

She couldn’t tell if Mike was paying attention to anything, or just zoned out with his back against the hull.

“Are the accounting systems really so archaic that no one would notice? And what about when they do find it, won’t the Marines get in trouble for not questioning why they were called up in the middle of the night to do this?” Jeremy, however, was the ultimate litmus test of right and wrong.

“It will get signed off along with the other couple dozen refuelings that are probably going on just tonight all around the country. All of the information will be there, but it will be essentially untraceable.”

Jeremy frowned unhappily.

Taz really needed to come to the point.

She’d delayed them with food—which was a woeful dinner at its best. Because of the speed of the operation to extract the second Ghostrider from Andrews, she hadn’t had a chance to check or amend their food supplies.

The prior crew had left MREs, crackers (not Bretons or even Triscuits, but Ritz, which were all about the salt), and a half-used case of spray-can cheddar cheese (for which they should be court-martialed).

Mike had followed her lead in selecting the Lemon Pepper Tuna MRE. As Meals-Ready-to-Eat went, it was one of the best for pretending it was real food.

Jeremy on the other hand dove for one of the new MRE flavors, Pepperoni Pizza Slice. It also had Italian bread sticks with cheddar and jalapeno cheese spread (that should have been left in the can), cookies, and a marginal excuse for a cherry-blueberry cobbler. The chocolate protein drink powder was about the only redeeming element. Jeremy burned through two of everything and was eyeing a third.

“What the hell? One of those will feed a soldier with full kit on an infiltration hike.”

“Jeremy and pizza. He’s almost bad as Holly, except she’ll eat anything.”

“And probably looks it.”

Jeremy went for the third slice, dumping the flameless heater in the outer bag. Just as he had twice before, on the verge of pouring in the water to activate it and slipping the sealed pizza slice bag in after it, he stopped. It could heat the pizza to almost palatable in under ten minutes. Instead he sliced open the inner bag and ate it cold, just like the first two.

“No. No, she’s not a bit heavy.” Mike stared over at the C-130’s bulkhead. “She’s hyper, chaotic, and a retired special operations warrior.” His words slowed along with his thoughts.

“Easy to see what you’re thinking of.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “What? Holly? Are you crazy?”

“She’d kill him,” Jeremy concurred with a full mouth.

“So, care to tell us why we’re here?” Mike went for the subject change.

Taz sighed. She liked these two—not that such things had ever stopped her before. But she really didn’t know how to sell them on what was about to happen; to get their willing participation.

“She wants us to fight a war for her general.”

Taz could only gape at Jeremy as he continued to chew. He was absolutely right.

46

“That’s right, young man.” JJ had never seen Taz hesitate about an assignment before. He’d come to check how she was doing with the civilians, but become fascinated by watching the dynamic. He’d been able to hear enough over the engines’ steady thrum to follow what was happening from the shadows around the side of the control station. “What else have you concluded?”

“You must be Drake’s friend, JJ.” Jeremy held out a hand, then looked at it, wiped it on his pants, and held it out again.

His hands were almost as soft as a clerk’s…and still slightly greasy from the pizza.

He saw Taz bristle, but he signaled her to stand down. “If you’re a friend of